What Would You Tell Us?

If you could talk, what would you tell us?
About the day that they punched the highway past Powell
And about the people who came there and stayed in those cabins
Built so long ago

What would you tell us about the river
And what used to come and what no longer does
What would you tell us about the Nee-Me-Poo
Who may have come by you
On their way out of this country

If I could core you, how old would I find you to be?
Those fire scars
They tell me that you have been through a lot

Your bark is thick
And the flickers and pileateds have dug at your base
To get those bugs
That are still trying to kill you

If you could talk what would you tell us?
about the men and women who came and stayed in these places
And the calk boots
And the fist fights
And the drinkin’
And the fires
And the music

And the young people who learned how to use a saw
Chain or crosscut
And an axe
And find their way in the wilderness

— Sandy Compton

A Few Thoughts on What We Have Now

My last column brought interesting letters to the editor, some of which weren’t printed because the writers didn’t wish to be in the public eye. One that did get published suggested the editor ban me because my views didn’t agree with theirs. They may wish to brush up on the

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A Few Thoughts on Bullies and Bravery

Long ago, I saw (by accident) an episode of “The Apprentice,” and learned that Donald Trump is a bully. I never ventured there again. Trump is still a bully. He likes to pick on people. He likes to see others squirm and suffer. He loves to make others angry. He

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A Few Thoughts on Learning to Ski

Winter has finally arrived, though the frosting on my small forest looks more like December than January. Thankfully, the frosting is much thicker on our mountains. I’ve not had to use the snowblower or shovel down here — at least not yet. Up there is plenty to ski on. Those

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Happy Holidays from the Scenic Route

This was written some time ago, but it still applies, I believe. Thanks for reading. Dear friends, On my drive home tonight, at the small city of Hope, Idaho, I watched a meteor inscribe the black heavens with a golden signature. It blew across the southern sky, as if launched

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